Chapter 23 - Prince Red Riding Hood

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Chapter 23

 

 

"—Ah."

 

Just as Lil steeled himself to leave his room, the door opened—as though someone had timed it precisely.

 

It was the handmaidens from the corridor. Each one curtsied deeply, skirts gathered in hand, bowing low before him. Some clutched handkerchiefs, weeping softly.

 

It was the grand door used for the entry and exit of royalty and nobility—never opened lightly.

 

The handmaidens stepped back against the wall, preparing for the arrival of someone of high rank.

 

"…Is someone here? Grandmother?"

 

Lil asked, confused by the tears, and just then, caught sight of the hem of a crimson dress.

 

Grandmother…? But before the thought could settle, Queen Cyndia stepped into view—followed closely by the High Archbishop and four other bishops. A heavy silence filled the corridor. Soldiers stood at attention just beyond, lending the scene a somber, almost foreboding weight. The air was thick with formality, grief, and quiet sobs.

 

"Grandmother? Even Your Grace, the High Archbishop? Has something happened?"

 

Lil's gaze darted between his dignified grandmother, face composed and regal, and the High Archbishop, whose expression was unreadable. He looked past them to the bishops, to the soldiers, to the handmaidens—all silent, all present for a reason he could not yet understand.

 

"Prince Liladry, we have come to deliver a message of great honor."

 

The High Archbishop's words struck like thunder, and though Lil had no idea what was happening, he replied instinctively, "Yes."

 

And then his eyes were drawn to the small wooden plaque held aloft in the archbishop's withered hand.

 

A name had been branded into it with searing permanence—his full name.

 

"…What is that?"

 

"It is the result of the drawing to determine tonight's offering. In His boundless mercy, God has chosen Your Highness to stand as a hero who will protect the kingdom of Vallcent and its people from the forces of darkness."

 

"—What? Me? You mean… me?"

 

"My sweet Lil… I never imagined such a thing could happen," the Queen said, her voice trembling. "Even if it is divine will, I cannot hold back these tears in the face of such a cruel fate. Why would God choose my only grandchild? With my daughter no longer capable of fulfilling her duties, why… must this happen to you—ah…"

 

Her voice shook as her body did. But her words reached only faintly through the storm raging in Lil's ears.

 

As bishops and maids tried to console the weeping queen—"Your Majesty, please… you must stay strong," "Perhaps you should lie down…"—Lil slowly began to piece it together.

 

I've been chosen… as tonight's offering? I… the only grandchild of Queen Cyndia? A crown prince in name, heir to the throne… Me? Me, who was supposed to be the next king… a sacrifice?

 

The maids, rushing to the queen's side, led her faltering steps to a cushioned bench. And Lil—Lil nearly crumpled where he stood. He barely managed to remain upright, though his knees trembled violently. His face twitched with strain, and his lips felt as though they could no longer form words.

 

"My name… It was placed… in the lottery box?"

 

It had to be a mistake. He shook his head as he asked the question, denial surging in his mind.

 

Impossible. It had to be impossible.

 

This wasn't just a matter of rank—it made no sense from the start.

 

Not every young man in Vallcent had their name placed in the offering lottery. Only those with strong, resilient bodies—men who might survive even after being bitten by the Wolf King and having their blood drained—were deemed eligible. And Lil, with a frame delicate enough to be mistaken for a girl, wouldn't have qualified even as a commoner.

 

"Lil… please, forgive me. It's all my fault."

 

Queen Cyndia's voice broke with regret.

 

"Because you are my heir, I couldn't treat you with special favor. That would have dishonored all those who've already been sacrificed.

That's what I believed… and so, when you turned sixteen, I had a nameplate made and placed it in the box."

 

"Grandmother…"

 

"There have been many sacrifices among the common folk, yes… but noble sons have been chosen too, more than once. That's why I felt it would be wrong to exclude you. I feared the judgment of the nobility and the people alike, and so I decided to include your name… and because of that… I'm so sorry. You proposed the idea of moving to a volunteer-based system, but… to think this would happen before that change could take effect…"

 

The Queen—always so composed in public—could no longer keep her voice from wavering.

 

Seated on the chaise, her face hidden in her hands, she looked as though she might collapse at any moment.

 

Not as queen, but as a woman who had raised a beloved grandchild, she tried to suppress her tears—but it was clear now, more than ever, that this was neither a dream nor a mistake. It was real.

 

"Please… forgive me. I was foolish. I believed that if you were truly worthy to be king, then God would surely protect you… I believed it with all my heart… and that was my folly…"

 

"—Ah…"

 

Her words—spoken as both queen and grandmother—cut into Lil's heart like a blade.

 

He thought: This must be divine punishment. For loving another man. For loving Klaus…

 

His grandmother had placed his name into the lottery not out of cruelty, but out of conviction. As a sovereign, she had sought fairness in the face of long-standing sacrifice. And as his grandmother, she had acted with faith—faith in Lil's heart, and in God's mercy.

 

"Please don't grieve so much, Grandmother. I'll be all right."

 

Had he been the kind of prince she had hoped for, perhaps someone else would have been chosen instead.

 

He had betrayed the faith placed in him—his grandmother's, and God's. There was no room left for complaint. Not when the divine had spoken.

 

"You and Mother are the last of our direct bloodline… but there are still other royals with claim to the throne. Surely among them, there is someone more suited to rule than me. If this role God has given me is not that of a king, but that of a sacrifice, then I accept it gladly. I offer myself with honor."

 

"Lil… ah… Oh, God… why… why must it be him…"

 

Lil stepped forward and gently laid his hand upon his grandmother's back, veiled in layers of royal silk.

 

Her warmth, her scent like noble lilies—both seared into his heart and eyelids, as if branding the moment into his soul.

 

Tonight, his body would fall to the Wolf King's fangs. His blood would be drained. He would die.

 

He would never again feel the warmth of the woman who had loved him so dearly. He would not see his mother. He would not be embraced by the one he had fallen in love with.

 

But it was all his own doing. Divine punishment, perhaps—but one with many causes.

 

The sin of loving another man. The sin of tempting Klaus, who had tried so hard to resist his own desires. The sin of being a prince, and yet turning a blind eye to the suffering of his people—treating the sacrifices made on the night of each full moon as something distant, unrelated to him. All of it—this was his penance.

 

"You did what was right, Grandmother. So please… even if I die, don't blame yourself. As a prince of Vallcent, it is my greatest honor to become the cornerstone of our peace."

 

"Lil…"

 

"I have just two requests. Please… don't tell Mother the truth of my death. I heard she enjoyed the biscuits I made with such delight, and from that moment, I dared to believe that perhaps—even just a little—my existence brought her some hope. Please, don't take that away from her. Don't give her another grief to carry. And… one more thing, when the day comes that you must return to the heavens, please… ensure that the new king does not cast my mother aside, or treat her with neglect. I beg you—watch over her."

 

Lil had once believed it would be his role to see both his grandmother and mother through their final days. Now, bearing the burden of sin, he had been condemned to an early death—a fate that tore at his heart as the deepest kind of filial failure.

 

When he thought of the future they would face without him, his tears would not stop.

 

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